


Doors

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Confessions [2]
Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Harvar realizes he can’t entirely remember the color of Ox’s eyes, he decides enough is enough." There are downsides to being in love with Ox Ford, and exam time is when Harvar notices most of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doors

Harvar is rapidly learning to hate exam time.

It was never much of an issue before. He’s a decent enough student that he can score an average grade without much studying and not a good enough one to make hours of effort worth the slightly-above-average score he’ll receive. Ox, of course, spends weeks preparing, organizing, planning, studying, locks himself in his room and doesn’t emerge until 3 in the morning when he’s too exhausted to go without eating any longer. Harvar doesn’t fret about his meister -- Ox is responsible enough to be trusted with his own health, he knows his own limits better than Harvar does -- but what before was a chance to stretch out into the temporarily empty apartment has now become days of loose ends, wandering aimlessly from room to room and jerking off so much it’s starting to become painful. When Harvar realizes he can’t entirely remember the color of Ox’s eyes, he decides enough is enough.

The door to the other boy’s bedroom is shut, and Harvar has always assumed it’s locked. His own bedroom is only ever in use when he’s sleeping or engaged in similarly private activities, and it’s only very recently that he’s even considered leaving the door unlocked for either of these. But either Ox has come to the same conclusion or Harvar’s assumption for the last few years has been wrong, because the knob turns easily when he tries it, the door pushes open to grant him entrance.

“I’m studying,” Ox says without turning around from his desk. He sounds snappish, on-edge like he usually does during these marathon studying sessions, but Harvar’s never been particularly touchy about politeness so he’s not hurt by the rejection of the tone. He’s more caught by the tidiness of Ox’s room, the neat stack of books on the shelf just in reach from the desk, the crisp edges of the well-made bed, the rows of pressed shirts visible past the door to the closet. It might be the pristine order that itches under his skin, or maybe just the sight of his recently absent meister hunched over his desk, but Harvar can feel the urge towards chaos prickle in his fingertips, the need to add the spark of life to the painfully clean room pushing him forward into the space.

“Take a break,” Harvar says aloud, stepping forward past the door, reaching out to leave his fingerprints on the sharp edges of the bedsheets.

“I can’t,” Ox says, still without turning around. His shoulders are tight, Harvar can see tension even higher than usual winding under his skin even with the obstruction of his shirt and vest. “I have to come in first this time.”

“It doesn’t matter that much,” Harvar says, but Ox is growling over him before he’s finished his sentence.

“It  _does_  matter.” He sounds pissed, now, properly angry, and when he turns around from the desk his face is pulled into a grimace of irritation. But he  _did_  turn around, he’s looking at Harvar now, and the weapon steps forward instantly, close enough that his knee hits Ox’s leg and the meister has to tip his head back sharply to hold eye contact.

“Shut up,” Harvar says. “Five minutes isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It  _will_ ,” Ox starts to protest, but Harvar is reaching for his shirt, wrapping his fingers into a fist in the fabric to keep Ox from pulling away when he leans down to kiss him. It’s harder than he intends, bruising force instead of gentle affection, but he’s been alone for  _days_  and he’s more anxious than he realized, and then his mouth hits Ox’s and the fire that rushes into his veins takes any apology with it.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he growls, and when Ox opens his mouth Harvar takes it as invitation instead of response, slides his tongue past the meister’s lips without waiting for the possibility of an answer to manifest. There’s a moment of resistance, tension drawing tight in the meister’s shoulders and irritated against his mouth; then Harvar licks against the roof of Ox’s mouth, hums in satisfaction against the other boy’s lips, and the strain cracks into submission.

“Take a break,” Harvar orders without moving away. Ox’s hand comes up to his shirt, hesitates for a moment like he’s thinking about pushing the weapon away, but Harvar has already felt his determination crack, there’s no question in his mind of what direction that hold is going to go even before the meister pulls him in. He’s perfectly willing to go, throws out a hand to catch himself against the meister’s leg before he drops to his knees as the easiest way to keep his balance. For a minute they’re just kissing, Ox’s fingers working idly against the bottom edge of Harvar’s shirt and Harvar doing his best to reacquaint himself with the shape of the meister’s mouth; then the weapon lets his hold on Ox’s shirt go, drags his hand down to the front of the other boy’s pants, and Ox pulls back with a half-strangled sound of surprise.

“Five minutes,” Harvar says again, growling against the potential of Ox refusing. “Five minutes, it won’t make a difference and you know it.”

“Harvar,” Ox starts, but it sounds like protest so Harvar leans in to kiss the sound away while he fumbles one-handed at the front of Ox’s slacks. He can feel the other boy’s interest in spite of his not-quite voiced protests, and the idea of having someone  _with_  him instead of jerking off on his own is more than enough to catch and hold his own interest. When he pulls back Ox is too breathless to form a coherent response right away, and Harvar has an argument ready.

“You’ve left me alone,” he hisses, sliding in closer so he can push up against Ox’s knee. “I miss you and I  _want_  you and I’m  _tired_  of fantasizing about you without  _having_  you.”

The meister goes still against him, shocked into paralysis for a minute, and Harvar has a moment of almost-regret for going too far but he can’t quite muster an apology. Then Ox grabs at the edge of his jeans, yanks him in closer, and suddenly he’s sitting up, leaning in so when he says, “You  _fantasize_  about me?” Harvar can taste the words on his tongue.

“Of course I do,” he admits instantly. “I’ve been jerking off to you for fucking  _years_ , Ox, I  _told_  you that.”

“You  _didn’t_ ,” Ox insists, and his fingers are dragging over Harvar’s skin just under the edge of his jeans. “I would have  _remembered_  that.”

“You should have guessed, then,” Harvar insists. The zipper on Ox’s pants comes down halfway, that’s good enough so Harvar can reach in to pull at the edge of the meister’s boxers. “I told you I’ve been in love with you all this time, what did you  _think_  I was doing?”

Harvar doesn’t realize, right away, that Ox has gone still. He’s still pulling the other boy’s clothes out of the way, desperate for reciprocated contact, when it sinks in that the hands at his skin have stalled out, that Ox is staring at him with his mouth half-open like he’s forgotten to close it. That gets Harvar to slow to a stop -- did he do something wrong? Does Ox not want this after all?

“What?” he snaps, when waiting isn’t getting any sort of reaction.

“You never said love,” Ox says, sounding shell-shocked.

Harvar can feel the blush creep up over his skin. It starts at his shoulders, a flush of heat that crawls up his collarbones and the line of his neck to settle as flaming color in his cheeks.

“Oh.” He looks for more words, finds none. “Uh. My mistake,” and he’s not sure if he means now or then. Ox is still staring at him, still looking like he’s thinking about saying something else, and Harvar  _really_  doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. So he pulls hard at Ox’s clothes to free the other boy from his boxers, looks down so he doesn’t have to see that almost-apology in the meister’s face, and brings his mouth down around Ox’s length.

Ox makes a sound like he can’t breathe, like he’s suddenly choking on the air he could inhale until a moment ago, and Harvar pulls back for a moment though he doesn’t look up.

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he says, wrapping his fingers around the other boy’s cock and pulling up in a too-hard stroke so the meister jerks and a hand comes in to grab at Harvar’s hair. “I just want to get you off, okay?”

“Later,” Ox says, and his voice is shaking but it has all the resonance of meister-dominance that lets Harvar know he’s not going to escape this. “We’re talking about it later.” Harvar doesn’t look up, just jerks his head in a nod, and comes back in before his blush has had time to fade.

He was worried self-consciousness was going to spoil the moment. But awkwardness isn’t enough to override want, for either him or Ox, if the resistance against his tongue is any indication. His lack of technique isn’t a dealbreaker either; at first he comes down too far and nearly chokes himself, and on his second stroke Ox pulls at his hair and gasps, “ _Teeth_ , Harvar,  _fuck_.” But then the weapon gets his mouth at a better angle, and slows down a lot, and Ox groans in encouragement and Harvar lets his hold on Ox’s leg go so he can get his jeans open and his hand around himself.

Ox is shuddering under the friction of his mouth, his breathing coming too loud and too fast, but when Harvar starts to stroke over himself and hums in relief the meister recollects himself enough to gasp, “Harvar, do you want…?”

Harvar tries to shake his head, but that just makes Ox jump with too-much sensation so he pulls away for a moment without slowing the movement of his hand over his own length.

“I just want you,” he blurts, forgetting himself enough to look up at the meister. Ox is gazing down at him like a benevolent ruler, his hand soothing in Harvar’s hair and his lips still parted around the whimpering reaction the weapon was drawing from him. “I just want --  _fuck_ ,” he says, pulling his eyes away again as another flush crashes over his cheeks. “Jesus, Ox, just let me suck you off, okay?”

Ox’s laugh is too loud in the enclosed space, as it always is when they’re indoors. It makes Harvar smile, draws amusement up in his throat so he has to bite back a laugh of his own before the meister drops back against the chair and says, “Yeah, okay.”

Harvar doesn’t wait for more permission. He comes back in, slower this time than his first attempt, but Ox groans in the back of his throat like Harvar is doing everything exactly right, and the weapon can feel the rush of blood to his own cock in response even before he resumes the frantic pace of his original motion. When he angles his legs wider he gets a better height for his mouth, Ox’s hand in his hair goes tighter in encouragement, and when the meister shivers and manages to choke out, “Harvar, I’m  _close_ ,” it’s like electricity rushes through Harvar’s whole body. It jerks his hand tighter on himself and sends his blood rushing through him, and for a moment he loses control of his mouth, loses the friction of his lips on Ox’s length as he groans open-mouthed and comes over his fingers, shaking like he hasn’t had an orgasm in days.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ox hisses. “ _Harvar_ ,” and he sounds desperate and shattered and Harvar closes his mouth while he’s still shivering with aftershocks, still drawing his hand over himself for the last jolts of pleasure. He’s pretty sure the rhythm of his mouth is off but it doesn’t seem to matter; he’s barely started moving again when Ox arches up off the chair, body thrumming with tension in the moment before he groans and comes into Harvar’s mouth. He tastes like metal and salt and Harvar can  _feel_  each pulse of pleasure running through the other boy, like Ox is grounding himself out against the weapon’s tongue, and if he hadn’t barely beat Ox to it he’s certain the idea alone would have sent him over the edge.

“I can’t believe you stopped,” Ox gasps as Harvar pulls back, sucking hard to lick him clean as he goes.

“Excuse me for  _coming_ ,” Harvar hisses in response. “I didn’t have much control over it.”

“I thought I was going to lose it,” Ox says. He still sounds snappish, but when Harvar looks up he’s smiling, looking unusually soft around the edges when he meets the weapon’s eyes.

“Well, you didn’t,” Harvar points out. He leans back to sit on the floor so he can pull his jeans off, wipe his sticky fingers on the denim before balling them up and getting to his feet in just his boxers. Ox is making a face when he looks back, but when he sees Harvar looking his expression drops into seriousness, and Harvar knows what’s coming even before the meister speaks.

“We  _are_  going to talk about it.” His eyes are clear behind his glasses, utterly determined as he sometimes looks.

Harvar knows better than to fight that look. “Yeah,” he says. “Later, though. You have to study, right?”

Ox’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah. I do.” He glances back at his desk, starts to turn, and Harvar is looking towards the door when the meister pauses. He doesn’t look at Harvar, doesn’t make eye contact at all, but his words come deliberately clear when he speaks.

“You should come in tonight.” Ox coughs to clear his throat. “When you’re ready to go to bed.”

Harvar blinks at Ox for a long moment. Then he tosses his head, crosses his arms over his chest. “No way.”

Ox looks up sharply, his face falling into lines of shock and hurt, and Harvar keeps talking. “ _You_  come to  _my_  room. My bed’s bigger than yours.”

Ox stares at him blankly. Then the meister’s face cracks into a smile that makes him look his age as he so rarely does, and Harvar lets himself grin in response as his chin lowers.

“Okay,” Ox agrees, and Harvar nods, turns towards the door.

“See you tonight, then, bookworm.”

He doesn’t shut the door all the way as he leaves, and Ox doesn’t tell him to.


End file.
